


never been more afraid

by nimrodcracker



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Falling to the Dark Side, Mandalorian Wars, POV Second Person, Reconciliation?, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: There is a light in her eyes, shining with a hope that widens her smile as you say-"I cannot."+a story of falling apart, and falling into.
Relationships: Atris/The Jedi Exile
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	never been more afraid

**Author's Note:**

> started off as an atris/exile piece from the mandaloran wars till the end of kotor 2. grown to include a character study on how atris fell.
> 
> title are lyrics taken from a beautiful letdown by isles. 
> 
> note: unrelated to my existing KOTOR1/KOTOR2 series.

+

She tells you about the Revanchists one day: of Alek, of Revan. Of the numerous Jedi forsaking their oaths to lead the frontlines of the Outer Rim.

She tells you about the Revanchist plan to join the war, to save the Republic. To stop the Mandalorian threat before they overrun the galaxy.

She trusts you enough to say, "I heed their call."

You stop what you are doing. Your hands hover over the holocron you're inspecting.

She believes in you enough to say, "Come with me."

The holocron snaps closed. It's an ugly crack, sharp on your ears.

You turn to her.

There is a light in her eyes, shining with a hope that widens her smile as you say-

"I cannot."

+

"Atris, you cannot be serious."

You know how it sounds to her. The Council, with the ability to change the tide of the war, refusing to intervene. Not only that, they banish those who do. And through their inaction, the galaxy burns.

"I am. The Council made their intent clear, and I intend to respect that."

"There is no justice in that. You, who taught me about hubris of those before us. You, who taught me that history only remembers those who are left. _Whatever_ their methods."

Your ears start to buzz. Your caf, brewed strong and fragrant, begins to fade.

"You will not change my mind, Surik. This is a line I will not cross. And if this stands between what we share, I-" You fumble for a moment, words stuck in your throat. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."

_For what couldn't be._

You feel her sorrow before you see it in her eyes, and you refuse to look away.

She looks away first. "So be it."

(This is how you begin to lose her.)

+

A week later, she leaves with the rest of the Revanchists.

You know there was no stopping a bleeding heart that felt more than it should.

And you let her.

Do you wish you did too?

You could be with her, but you could not do what she could.

You are the historian, she is the guardian. But she is not raised for war, like the rest who echo the Revanchist call in their hearts.

For that, you weep at the sacrifice made by those oft ill-prepared to give.

She was twenty-five years old on the boarding ramp.

+

You need not check the HoloNet. News of Revan and Malak reach you regardless: hallway conversations, Council meetings, HoloNet billboards on Coruscant skylanes.

The twin darlings of the Republic. Saviours, according to the tabloids, for the war's tide turned upon their presence in the Republic war effort. Or whatever narrative the Republic press machine wanted to spin, sensitive to the potency of public opinion.

The HoloNet does not feature her.

(She never liked being in the spotlight.)

This is why you pick up your datapad. This is why you type - or try to, at least. The words come easy after minutes of silence.

You think about what it means to fight. From Serroco, to Duro, and Taris. Through that, to shoulder the hopes and dreams of a galaxy, with grace.

Most of all, you think about how it feels to fight, while defying the wishes of the only family you've known.

Perhaps she found family in the rank and file she leads and fights with. Perhaps they are a family the Jedi could never be. You need only think of a young Padawan from Talravin, and how she joined the Order.

Then, you think about Dxun.

How many of them still remain?

How does she live on when most she knows does not?

For all the connections they make in their life of service, in the end, Jedi stand alone.

No attachments - that is the Jedi way.

This is how it will remain.

And she chose this life.

(This is how you fail her.)

+

_Atris._

_You were right not to follow. War changes all it touches._

_I have done terrible things. Some I can barely put words to. I do not and cannot regret - I will only learn to live with that._

_Tomorrow, we fight at Malachor._

_When you read this, it will be all over._

_With or without me._

+

What difference would it make? What is your voice compared to the other masters, older and wiser than you? Your fitted Council robes are still scratchy and so _new_ on your skin.

The voices of the other masters ring throughout the Council chamber, but she looks to you.

Only you.

Surprise in her raised brows, at your place in the Council. A hint of pride, in the smirk that emerges after.

But her eyes betray what you cannot feel.

_Atris. Please._

She is but one figure against the Council, the one Jedi who returned to face the Council.

Insolent, to those who refuse to understand. Foolish, others would think. For Revan and Malak have disappeared hitherto into the unknown, leaving her to bear what is meant for many more.

Yet, she is but one figure against the Council, one Jedi who returned to face the Council.

You wished she had protested louder, stronger, longer, like the guardian she is - but this is not the woman who walked into the room today.

There is a light in her eyes, bright yet dimmed. But you _see_ that. You do not _feel_ it, the way you used to. In fact, you could not feel her the entire time because where she stood… nothing lived there.

The holocrons speak nothing of this, but even you know there is much about the Dark Side that the Order remains ignorant about.

That must be it. Nothing else would have irrevocably changed her.

(This is how you fail her.)

She does not look back as she strides out of the chamber, her footsteps constant in their cadence. She carries herself well, even if it is walking to her indefinite exile. Even when you are part of those who cast her out.

You think part of you left with her.

Now, you know better.

Part of you left when she boarded that transport to the Outer Rim those years ago.

+

Sitting alone in the Council Chambers, you scream. For all that has happened. For all that is lost.

You curse the day Revan came to address the Jedi. You curse the foolishness of the younger ones who listened to their passions before their sense. And most of all, you curse yourself for being unable to convince her otherwise.

Because this is how you lost her.

+

She does not reply your messages.

She does not pick up your calls.

And by the time you seize the courage to visit her temporary quarters in the Temple, she is long gone.

The trial was six hours ago.

+

A message wakes you that night.

Three words. No names. An untraceable location.

You know who it is from.

_Leave me be._

+

You keep her lightsaber, but for what?

A favour?

A lesson?

A vanity?

It is heavy in your hands. The orange blade hurts your eyes.

Strange.

Years of sparring against this blade, and not once do you remember the colour searing into your sight. Not even when its tip hovers mere hairsbreadths from your chin, her besting you in a friendly duel yet again.

She may be years younger, but you are the historian, and she is the guardian.

Orange is the colour of passion. Of strength. Of stubborn will.

Orange is a shade skirting red.

You don't know if lightsaber colours can change because of what it cuts through too often. A historian you are, an engineer you are not, and the holocrons speak nothing of the sort.

You do know that lightsaber crystals reflect the sentiments of its master. Like a prism, refracting colours of a soul.

How much of her shines through in the hues of her lightsaber crystal?

How many Mandalorians did she cut down with this lightsaber?

You wonder if you should have asked these before she vanished.

But it has been years, and she is nowhere to be found.

+

You could trawl the HoloNet or tap on the Exchange's comms for days and still find nothing about her.

Perhaps she walks the paths she trod during the war. Perhaps she forsook the life of a Jedi to pursue another.

Perhaps she died long ago, with you none the wiser. With your betrayal the last she remembers of you.

You turn off the HoloNet feeds in your quarters.

Your heart twinges with guilt, a feeling you know all too well.

So you find solace in holocrons and history and what has, putting together what you know and what is known.

That is your job, as a historian of the Jedi.

The Mandalorians were overrunning the galaxy. The tide of war turned with the help of the Revanchists. They soundly defeated the Mandalorians at Malachor V. She played pivotal roles in crucial battles of the war.

That is fact.

She was going to fall regardless, in going to war. Such was its nature, and none could walk away from it unchanged.

That is… that is fact.

It is the only explanation, you tell yourself. All the Jedi who left to fight under Revan fell. Those witless - no, _arrogant_ enough to disobey the Council… _all_ of them fell, and reveled in their mistakes.

You nod, reassured.

That is fact.

+

What if you had explained why you could not follow her to war before her trial?

What would have changed?

Would she have stayed, would she have felt a little less alone, would she have not fallen to the d---

+

Fools.

Fools, every single one of them.

First, it was Mandalorians. Then, it was Revan. Last, it was Malak. All of them threats to the galaxy, and for all of them the Council _refused_ to act. The only exception was the strike team to capture Revan. Even then, it was a team of _Padawans_. Their sole survivor was then tasked to accompany an amnesiac former Sith Lord across the galaxy to unknowingly destroy the space station behind the Sith war effort.

Bastila was only eighteen years old. During which, she fell to the dark side.

This is why you renounced the Council on Coruscant and set off for Telos.

Only you can save the Order, when unseen Sith strike from the shadows to purge all you hold dear. The current Council are lost. Incompetent. Unwilling to do whatever necessary for survival.

This is why you call for a conclave on Katarr. Whatever happens, it will be for the greater good.

Only you can save the Order, because none else wish to act.

The Council never learned from their mistakes, and so, the galaxy burned.

+

A message wakes you that night.

Three words. No names. A location in the Outer Rim, along the Hydian Way.

You know who it is from.

_Where are you?_

+

"You've been busy."

Exile has not treated her well - worn down by the weight of a galaxy's fate, and perhaps more.

She wears the garb of a typical spacer, a blaster holster on her waist and nothing more. But the lines in her face etch deep and dark. Her shoulders are set rigid and unbuckling.

Her eyes.

You try not to stare. "I did not expect to see you again."

You lie easily once more.

There is light in her eyes, orange as Hassaq's sun; dipping on the horizon before the approaching dark.

She blinks. The orange flickers to her usual brown.

You have so many questions.

"Yet, here I am. If you're here to chastise me for what I've done, save it. I just want my ship and my companions back."

Why did she destroy Peragus? Why was she there? How did she come into the company of her companions?

Why does she refuse to speak?

"Then know this - that I had to exile you, as the Council demanded."

"And I had to leave everything that was once dear to me, because they only brought me pain." She does not blink. "Even you."

You have lived with this knowledge ever since she left. Yet, it strikes a nerve. And you realise that the pain never eased, festering instead in the aching crevices of your soul.

There was no closure between the both of you. Now, it demands to be felt. You do it the only way you know how.

"How dare you say that, when I stayed and you left! _Without_ a word!"

Your words are harsh. You raise your voice.

She raises hers in turn.

(This is how you lose her again.)

+

Again she leaves without a fuss, collecting her companions and taking off on her ship.

Again she leaves, while you stay to pick up the pieces of what is.

With her, is your youngest handmaiden. Brianna stows away on the Ebon Hawke on your orders.

Before she leaves, Brianna asks you about her. About the emotions she inspires in you, even without trying.

"What is it about her, Mistress? Why is she different?"

_She is everything you are not._

"I believed in her, once. We all did." You hate how piteous you sound. She is not deserving of your kindness. "Watch her. She is not to be trusted. She is a liar and a danger to us all, and she will never change."

You wonder who will walk away alive the next time the both of you meet.

(This is how you fail yourself.)

+

_Atris._

_I know what you think of me. Malachor V was supposed to be my grave. And I wished it was._

_Yet, here I am._

_Perhaps history will judge me as a hero. Perhaps history will judge the Council as prudent in their caution._

_I realise I couldn't care less. In the end, people suffer anyway. That weighs on me more._

_I thought you knew that about me._

+

Weeks pass before you receive a message from the Handmaiden, a message you did not expect to receive. Brianna was always the most headstrong of your handmaidens, wont to follow her heart and beliefs over reason… just like her.

You had feared betrayal. That she would break her oaths for misguided causes she yet deems worthy… just like her.

That remains to be seen.

For now, Brianna reports on the Exile. Brianna is troubled by her calculated callousness and her disregard for Jedi tradition, her fondness for unorthodox solutions. But she is not evil. That oh, crass as her methods are, she still does good. Old habits from the war she carries on.

(This is how you fail her again.)

You think Brianna is blinded by her feelings for her. Who wouldn't? Such was the exile, commanding in her presence, compelling in her demeanour. Revan could spin anything into a rousing speech, but she…

She had a way of making you feel at ease around her, as if she has known you like old friends.

Old friends.

You wonder if that is all you were.

You wonder why it still matters to you.

She chose her path. You chose yours.

She can bask in the dark for all you care, because you're done pulling people out of the dark.

Once a Sith, always a Sith.

She will never make you doubt yourself ever again.

(This is how you fail yourself.)

+

She may be years younger, but you are the historian, and she is the guardian.

She may have lost her connection to the Force for years until recently, but it's her lightsaber blade at your chin, and your life at her mercy. You stand with your hands at your sides, lightsaber pointed down, but you know she'll impale you before you can try anything.

There is a light in her eyes, of corrosive yellow that eats away at her irises, like the cracks crawling across her cheeks. Faint in the semi-dark of the chamber, but the orange glow of her blade drags it to sight.

Just like yours.

You drop your saber. It clatters as it lands, the blade fizzling out with a whine.

This is how it ends.

"The Mandalorian Wars changes all that it touches, doesn't it?" She regards you with a seeming kindness. That shames you more. "Even you."

"You left to find yourself."

"You stayed to hold yourself together."

You think about all that's happened since then. "Yet, I fell all the same."

Brianna lies comatose in the periphery of your sight, white robes singed from the lightning. _Your_ lightning. It carries over to linger in your smell, acrid enough to sting.

Another reminder of your failure.

She deactivates her lightsaber. "Because you were right. War invokes strong reactions, and they ripple beyond the front line. Beyond the moment. They are the graveyard worlds where nothing lives anymore. The dead stares of those who walk away from Malachor alive." You shiver when her voice softens to a whisper. You tense up when she stoops to your level, and tilts your chin up with calloused fingers to face her. "The despair of those who care for veterans of both wars."

"My only mistake was I failed to to see that no one could escape the war," You whisper back. The admission is heavy, but the acknowledgement is freeing. Her gaze, piercing brown with flecks of gold. "We carry Malachor with us wherever we tread."

"Not this time. I will find Kreia, and I will end this."

This is the woman you know. This is the woman who almost convinced you to follow her into hell itself on the Outer Rim. Always skirting the line between falling and fallen, beholden to no Code but hers. But her voice is sure, and her expression somber.

This is the woman you grew to love, once upon a time.

"You say like you mean it." You mull over your words. You think about Kreia's words to you hours before she came, how it twists your insides with simple _truth_.

You are so tired. "Maybe this time, I do."

"I swear it. For you, for me, for all who suffered because of me. Malachor ends with me."

This is the woman you know. This is the woman who left you questioning your very ideals, even years after she vanished. Always skirting the line between falling and fallen, beholden to no Code but hers. Her voice is sure, and her expression somber.

This is the woman you grew to despise, in recent memory.

"What happens after, Surik?"

She takes your hands in hers, and you-

You grip them tight in return.

She says, "We try again."

You meet her gaze. "We try again."

Everyone falls all the same.

She makes to reach for you - but thinks the better of it. Only glances at you over her shoulder as she walks out of your chambers.

You watch her leave with a certain funny feeling in your chest. 

Everyone tries again all the same.

And that is what matters more, isn't it.

+

This time, she comes back.

+

**Author's Note:**

> _it's paralysing me / and i don't even know why / i've never been more afraid_   
>  _and i shiver at the thought of you / when you’re in my mind / it is only you_   
>  _my thoughts have weathered / and these tired eyes can't lie / i'm tired, i'm tired of waiting_
> 
> _and things are so different now_  
>  ([~](https://weareisles.bandcamp.com/track/a-beautiful-letdown))  
> 


End file.
